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Summer Mix

May 30, 2006

Here's the summer mix - please let me know if you would like a copy:

1. Indian Thing (take one) - Black Wax Machine
2. Forces At Work - the Feelies
3. Mouth Wooed Her - Animal Collective
4. The Killing Moon - Echo and the Bunnymen
5. Run Run Run - Velvet Underground
6. Le Pain Perdu - Cibo Matto
7. No Love Lost - Joy Division
8. Rise - Public Image Limited
9. Give the Anarchist a Cigarette - Chumbawamba
10. Information - Numbers
11. Good Woman - Cat Power
12. Late May - Black Wax Machine
13. Anna - KUKL
14. The Chain - Fleetwood Mac
15. Germfree Adolescents - X-Ray Spex
16. Mean Machine - Chant - The Last Poets
17. We Tigers - Animal Collective
18. Gutless - Jawbreaker
19. Now We're Even - Smart Went Crazy
20. Spread Your Wings - Spirtualized Electric Mainline

all in all, a really good mix. I especially like the Black Wax Machine songs and the Animal Collective stuff that is new to my playlist and so, so, so good! I am not so sure the Echo and the Bunnymen and PiL stuff fits, but I have been in touch with old friends, and those songs are from that era...so I'm putting them on there anyway.

Without fear she'd give up and die...

May 30, 2006

I have created a pretty good summer mix. I just need to get permission from someone before I include a couple of his songs on the mix. I am not sure if he would want me to share them, but they are so so so so good, I am hoping he says yes.

I am in the 4th day here without air conditioning, and I have to say I had been so spoiled by the A/C that I forgot how to do those basic thingys that we do to conserve energy. Like, for instance, well-placed fans. I think I am going to at least attempt to go A/C free while the kids are away. My housemate has a window unit, so I am not terribly worried about her up and leaving in a huff (plus she is also really a very nice person...which, YAY! for me for finding such a cool housemate).

I have also done a fair amount of housecleaning this weekend. My kitchen is quite tidy, and I am working on the living room bit by bit. going around the room in a methodical fashion. I am enjoying it immensely. It makes me, once again, want to have a companion here that will just quietly Be Here while I do silly stuff like cleaning and dancing around with the vacuum cleaner. I could save a ton of money if I could multitask my socializing with puttering around the house. I'm a huge fan of puttering, but after awhile by myself, I start to feel all crusty and in need of external stimulus. Some other voices to focus on, rather than just those in my own head.

And mowing my lawn. I actually started working on the front yard today and got almost all the way done before the lawn mower started to smell like it was on the verge of bursting into flames. I unplugged it and turned it over to look at it, and some lady drove up and was all freaked out saying "UNPLUG IT FIRST! UNPLUG IT!!!!" I held the UNPLUGGED end of the extension cord out for her to see and said, puzzled "Um, I'm not THAT stupid." meaning...yeah, I wait until my lawn is like 8 feet high before I mow it down, but nyeesh. Give me a freaking break, lady.

What is it about me that inspires people to think I need advice, anyway? Really, I do know I am kind of a freak and an arm-waving seemingly-on-the-verge-of-catastrophe freak at that...but seriously...if you are so interested in preventing me from doing dumb stuff, kindly donate some money to the paypal account and keep your stupid advice to your stupid self. I'm liable to wave the unplugged extension cord of my actually fairly joyous life in your face, otherwise. Yes, I do recognize a live wire when I see one. Don't worry, I do wear rubber gloves to avoid electrocution. Nyeesh. I am not lacking in wisdom...just time and money.

I had my first swim of the summer yesterday and it was fucking awesome. I got 30 laps in right off the bat and felt like that was a good enough number for now. I am still walking every night and my stamina is really improving. I will probably swim more and more over the summer, but I just don't want to overdo it at first and burn out. I want to swim until it's not fun to be swimming anymore. Today, I drove out to the pool and it looked way too crowded for a leisurely swim so, fuck it. I came home and watched a video and paid my bills. Or, at least I wrote the checks and put them into the envelopes. We have yet to see how they actually get paid. And when. A little at a time. Pressure valve bill paying. The good thing about a three day weekend is only 3 days until payday.

I have decided that I MUST find a way to get that big pomegranate tattoo on my back. Maybe it won't be a full back piece, I don't know. It depends. I need to write up the conceptualization I have and send it off to my friend so she can sketch it out for me. I might not be able to get it by August...I might even have to wait until next year. But, damnit, I need to have a pomegranate tattooed on my back, and that is FINAL. Three pomegranates, actually...well, no...two and a half.

I have thought about a million times this weekend about never ever blogging again. I am feeling very over-exposed lately. Also, it really seems like I am finally communicating with someone on a regular basis who sort of "gets" me without me having to go to great lengths to be "gotten." That is a nice feeling. But tonight I was chatting with my wacky-sidekick-in-training and I realized that blogging is about me and not about whoever is reading this. So I need to just sit down and let the words come. I am doing more private journaling about my more private thoughts, but I still have plenty of things to share, in case anyone is interested.

Speaking of wacky-sidekick-in-training, he had some wisdom tonight to share about love and practicality, and thinking about that conversation reminded me of the conversation I had with my friend S last night about my parenting angst. I was telling S that I have all of this weird angst about not being a "complete" family for the boys - not being good enough just on my own, but not feeling like I really even will ever want to have a partner. S sagely responded that, you know, almost all kids complain about SOMETHING from their childhood. In other words, if it wasn't my lack of a partner, it would be something else. It was so simple but so immensely calmly delivered and wise. I was grateful to him. I always forget that my friends without kids actually HAVE BEEN kids at some point in their lives, and are therefore very well qualified to give parenting advice when called upon to do so. Silly me. Always underestimating!

Germ Free Adolescents
by X-Ray Spex

I know you're antiseptic
Your deodorant smells nice
I'd like to get to know you
But you're deep frozen like the ice

He's a germ free adolescent
Cleanliness is her obsession
Cleans her teeth ten times a day
Scrub away scrub away scrub away
The S.R. way....

You may get to touch her
If your gloves are sterilised
Rinse your mouth with listerine
Blow disinfectant in her eyes

Her phobia is infection
She needs one to survive
It's her built-in protection
Without fear she'd give up and die

Good Woman

May 28, 2006

Good Woman
by Cat Power

I want to be a good woman
And I want for you to be a good man
And this is why I am leaving
And this is why I cant see you no more
cause I dont want to be a bad woman
I cant stand to see you to be a bad man

I will miss your heart so tender
I will love this love forever
This is why I am leavin
And this is why I cant see ya no more
And this is why I am lying
When I say I dont love ya no more

I want to be a good woman
And I want for you to be a good man
And this is why I am leavin
And this is why I cant see ya no more
And this is why I am lying
When I say that I dont love you no more

The Fate Of The Human Carbine
by Peter Jeffries (as interpreted by Cat Power/chan marshall)

Thinks of money all the time,
Doing it to annoy her,
She's on his conscience day and night,
So he acts like her employer.
They all come and peep through a hole in the wall,
Keep the bastards guessing.
He likes to take the long way home,
It's another fine decision,
From six to seven he'll be all alone,
So he turns on televison,
Doesn't even notices this is the hours roll by,
It's lost inside the screen,
Watches the film about the evening sky,
It was someone else's dream.
All come peep through the wall,
Keep the bastards guessing,
All come and peep through a hole in the wall,
Just to watch his heart undressing,
They all come and peep through a hole in the wall,
Because you look so impressive.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Ways I Hate You!

May 28, 2006

There is something satisfying about waking up feeling angsty and listening to punk rock...especially hyperbolically angry punk rock.

I can't find one of my private journals and it is pissing me off and freaking me out. I am sure it is around somewhere, but not absolutely sure. My private journals are, like, the place where I dump all of my thoughts in the moment and not look back. I don't even know what I wrote in this particular journal, but the idea of anyone reading it without context freaks me right out. They are not meant for public consumption. At all. So there's that, and there's teh fact that the journal contained, like, thoughts from the past 4-6 months or so of my life, and I really need to get it back.

I remember one time I left a private journal on a bench somewhere and when I realized I had left it, I went back in a panic and there were a bunch of people reading it. I was embarrassed enough to consider not even saying anything - I mean, how would they know it was me? But we are talking about my JOURNAL here...so I got it back. blah.

And then there was the time my ex read my journal and it sparked his final descent into depravity with regard to our relationship. I had written very frankly (in my PRIVATE journal) about some feelings I was having about our relationship, sex, being touched, etc. It was a very bad time in my life, and I had a lot of pain that I needed to let go of. My journal was always my escape. They were hurtful words, but they were words that were never meant to be read by anyone other than me. Really, it was just a lot of stuff I needed to work through and get over, and an exploration, using words, of all of my options. After he found it (and broke up with me as a result) I had a difficult time writing anything in my journals. I have only just now begun to recover the ability to not self-censor when I write.

I am hoping I find that fucking journal. Damnit.

In other news, I have spent the past day and a half in hiding from the world. I have an inkling that I am going to make a break for it today...and maybe go swimming or something. I'm still not really feeling like being around people. Maybe one or two people. Blah. I miss my boys. I am going to take a vacation upon their return and spent the whole time hugging them. The little twerps.

You know, it's actually not so bad in here without A/C. I have a fan by my bed and on the couch, and I just flop in one place or another and take a lot of showers. Cooking is gross, but it is perfect for enforcing laziness which, you know, every once in awhile needs to be enforced.

Spread Your Wings

May 27, 2006

Have you ever had a time in your life when a bevy of seemingly ill-timed or ill-advised events come together to form some sort of gorgeous symphony? Like how sometimes trash can lids can sound like music, and the smell of your sweat can become a comforting sweetness, or how three weeks of freedom can become three weeks of...caged insanity?

This is the way it is for me lately. Or maybe it has been this way forever. I can't keep track. But right now, I have no a/c in my house, my kids left yesterday and tore my heart out along with them, I am hopelessly enamored of a boy who presents a significant set of challenges (but who is absolutely deliciously sexy and wonderful and mushy and sweet and sour and, oh, everything.) and I spent pretty much the entire night last night taking pictures of myself crying. hahaha.

I laugh, because in spite of or because of this, I feel like bursting open. It is all emergence in the end. It is so funny how beautiful life is, and how every little thing leads into something else which causes another thing which sparks a raging conflagration. I can't say that I am overjoyed today. I am tired from sleep interrupted with bouts of extreme wakefulness. I am crusty from tears. I am addled in the head with feelings of lust and love combined (oh, my!) and I am here sitting on the edge of my seat, wondering how this is all going to come together.

"Spread Your Wings"
by Spiritualized

Oh babe
You know I’ll take
Just a little bit more
Just a little bit more
And time
Time goes
Time goes slowly by
When I know that it can fly
C’mon spread your wings
Spread your wings

You can do anything, everything, anything

Flickr photo friday - version blast from the past

May 27, 2006

An old friend from high school sent me some photos from my misspent youth:

Also, a couple of tearful arty shots, which are part of a series that I'm too, um, impaired to decide if they are safe to share.

And some photos from last week's trip to the Nature Center:

Enjoy!

It's a Decemberisty Day

May 25, 2006

Maybe because I am wishing it was December - or any month, really, in which it wouldn't matter that my fucking A/C fan is broken. Fuck. I thought I was going to be totally flush for my vacation and now I am going to, instead, be scrambling for money.

At any rate, J is going to come over and take a look at it, which is funny because it was J who fixed it the last time...banging away on the damn thing until the fan motor came out. He spent about 24 hours working on it. I am hoping this time, if it is the motor again, it won't be quite as rusted tight. What I really need is an entirely new unit, but that will have to wait. I am hoping that it is the motor again. Or the solonoid. I am hoping this isn't an expensivey repair. All the better if J can pull it off for the cost of parts and lunch and the pleasure of our company.

I had a nice conversation with J last night. We haven't seen much of him around here lately, and I, for one, miss him. A lot. Monk misses him, too. I'm sure Coley does, as well...but lately all Coley ever thinks about is his mama (me). We are all supposed to go on an outing tomorrow before the boys go to their dad's house for. three. weeks.

It was a nice conversation with J, but I wish I wasn't such an oversharing freak. You know, for once in my life, I would like to be able to keep a freaking secret or two. I am finding that oversharing has become almost compulsive with me. Like there is nothing about me that I'm not absolutely willing to prattle on and on about. I want to be able to play it cool with someone...to hold back information. To not be such a freaking arm-waving dork so much of the time. But, no. I will happily spill whatever I am asked (or not even asked in the most remote sense, depending on my mood) to spill.

I would make a horrible spy. So, instead I will listen to the Decemberists and dream of a me who could, instead of spilling factual information, make up elaborate lies about who I am and what I am thinking or feeling or doing. Wouldn't that be fun?

My mother was a Chinese Trapeze Artist
by The Decemberists

My mother was a Chinese trapeze artist
In pre-war Paris
Smuggling bombs for the underground.
And she met my father
At a fete in Aix-en-Provence.
He was disguised as a Russian cadet
in the employ of the Axis.
And there in the half-light
Of the provincial midnight
To a lone concertina
They drank in cantinas
And toasted to Edith Piaf
And the fall of the Reich.

My sister was born in a hovel in Burgundy
And left for the cattle
But later was found by a communist
Who'd deserted his ranks
To follow his dream
To start up a punk rock band in South Carolina.
I get letters sometimes.
They bought a plantation
She weeds the tobacco
He offends the nation
And they write, "Don't be a stranger, y'hear."
"Sincerely, your sister."

So my parents had me
To the disgust of the prostitutes
On a bed in a brothel.
Surprisingly raised with tender care
'Til the money got tight
And they bet me away
To a blind brigadier in a game
Of high stakes canasta.
But he made me a sailor
On his brigadier ship fleet.
I know every yardarm
From main mast to jib sheet.
But sometimes I long to be landlocked
And to work in a bakery.

The Boys

May 24, 2006

It is evident that the boys are feeling some stress over their impending 3-week mama vacation. I might say that Coley seems to be particularly affected by it, but Monk has his way of stifling his feelings...or expressing them in odd ways. I have grown somewhat accustomed to it, but it still strikes me sometimes how differently my boys deal with difficult situations.

For instance, Coley has been waking up every night and coming into my room. Today's episode involved him coming into my room, and then crying because he was "having illusions" (his words) that the chair was a monster. I finally had to turn on the light to show him that the chair was, indeed, a chair. And we had a discussion about how it is normal to be afraid of things like that in the night and you need only shed some light on the situation to chase away that fear. Later in the morning, he woke up crying. He is feeling sad because he will miss me when he is at papa's house. There was a lot of talk about how we can have some sadness inside even when we are doing happy things, and that it is important to let that sadness out. So we both cried for a bit, and then Coley felt better and went back to sleep.

I didn't feel much better, though. I know my kids will be fine, but there are some things that their papa is doing in the discipline arena that upset me immensely, and there is really nothing I can do about it. While I feel like these things are incredibly inappropriate, they are not illegal...and it is argued by some that they are actually helpful. It is difficult for me to feel so strongly opposed to these practices...and have my children tell me about them...and have to stand by and allow them when I feel that they are damaging. What do you say to a child when they tell you that the other parent is doing something that you wholeheartedly disagree with, but you don't want to confuse them? I don't want to make the efforts of the other parent futile by being combative, and I don't want to confuse my children, but I desperately want to protect them. I feel like this is one of those things that I am being forced to let go, and I will have to maybe explain to them the best way I know how when they are older. It is distressing to me, though. And I think the timing of the decision on their papa's part to engage in these practices is...disconcertingly...seemingly manipulative.

At any rate. Coley and I have been getting in a lot of snuggle and "I love you" time. I am going to make them each a little picture book to bring with them. Photos of me. Photos of them. Photos of Twyla. Photos of all of us together. Silly photos. And they know my number, and they will be in town almost the whole time. And mama will miss them, but I will also be having fun. My life is complete with them and without them, but they definitely make it more complete.

Coley and I actually talked about emotions and how to express them and how an artist uses emotions to create good art.

And then Monk walks in, in his way, and says "I am going to miss you when I am at dad's house, mom." Which of course makes my heart all melty because Monk is Mr. tough-as-nails-hard-to-get and so rarely expresses emotion that starkly honest. Even though it is so so obvious to me what he is feeling most of the time. But then he adds "Because I won't have anyone to ANNOY."

*sigh* My monk. Of course, he totally had tears in his eyes as he was saying this. So I just smiled and mussed his hair and told him that I would put pictures of him waving his butt at the camera in his picture book, because that way he could look at them and remember all of the times I tried to take a cute picture of him and he, literally, turned tail.

My boys. *sigh*

It is going to be a rough 3 weeks for me. Be on the lookout for a million sappysad posts and/or total silence...or exagerrated silliness. Or other signs of mamaloss.

Tyger

May 24, 2006

Ms. Dahlia hooked me up with this video this fine morning. I can hear the birds singing outside, and if I close my eyes, I can imagine it coming true.

A conversation with Coley

May 24, 2006

Cole: Does George Bush have his head on any dollars mom?
Mama: No, sweetie...George Bush doesn't have his head on any dollars.
Cole (somewhat exasperated): Not his ACTUAL head, mom...I mean, like a PICTURE of his head.

Root Causes of Misogyny

May 23, 2006

Belledame raises some interesting points here:

Here's the deal, though. One of the legacies of patriarchal culture (current "mainstream" U.S. version, at least, as handed down from Biblical morality via Calvinism and Victorianism) is the expectation that Twoo Luv conquers all. A good woman can save a man from his beastly impulses, in a romantic, monogamous, dyadic relationship. Traditionally, marriage; lately, that particular expectation, maybe not so much (depending on where you are and what your background is). Otherwise, though, it's all still very much there. We could talk about the heternormativity of that dictate all day, and probably have done, and will do, especially wrt how it affects women, not to mention queer folk and other sexually "alternative" people. Don't bet on the Prince. An orgasm is a gift you give yourself. Free yer ass and the rest will follow. Love/sex is not a scarce commodity. And so on.

But there's a particular twist to the man's expectation in this patriarchally normative set-up, in that the *other* dictates he's received are: You don't have emotional needs. You don't turn to other men for tenderness, and women (except, *maybe*, for That Special Someone, assuming you ever find her), are there primarily for service/combat. So essentially, you're putting an awful lot of expectations on one woman; and very likely you don't even know that you *have* those expectations. They get reified into concrete "shoulds" like "laugh at my jokes" and "have sex __ number of times per __" and so forth. (And of course it could also be that woman in this equation is going off her own reified expectations of what "caring" looks like from a "traditional," sexist perspective...which may include such things as buying presents and spending money, yes. Bottom line: no one's able to ask for what they actually need. cue bitterness all around).

It's something I am really considering in the context of whether or not monogamous relationships are even possible. I just feel like monogamy sets us up to expect too much from each other, and that bitterness is what ultimately ensues.

It is interesting that I note within myself lately both a resignation to the fact that I have a special affinity for men who "have issues" and yet I feel myself desiring less and less to "fix" them, and instead focusing on how we fit together, flaws and all. It's a lesson I wish I had learned sooner - as I could have sidestepped a ton of unwanted chaos in my life.

heh. The tapper.

May 23, 2006

Now THIS is cool. Although it does kind of require that you actually have rhythm of some sort.

[link via the bellman]

Random thoughts.

May 23, 2006

I have been walking around in a weird semi-daze all day that usually means one of two things: either I am about to come down with some sort of illness, or I am balancing on the rickety bridge of love, on the verge of totally taking a dive. I am praying in that way that only non-praying people can pray that I start barfing soon. Either way, my dog is pissed. I had to skip our walk tonight so I could take a nap and now, though I feel somewhat less flushed and disoriented, I am still too tired to walk, and I have a bunch of work to finish up before I can go to sleep sleep. She (the dog) is pretending to be innocently asleep on the couch, but I think in reality she is secretly plotting something evil.

This is the last week that the children are with me before they go to their dad's house for an extended visit. I have wacky sidekicks lined up to distract me, and all sorts of plans and ideas for what I need to do. Luckily, I am also suddenly feeling very inspired in the writing department - only it's mostly stuff that I only really want to put in my private journal for now...so readers of the blog might not witness the impending flood of words. Or, as Coley would maybe say - floodNADO. Of words.

I spent the weekend doing mostly mellowish things of little consequence, and some of major consequence. Cleaning up the house, seeing a movie with Hay-rolled, meeting a new friend who is really good at hugging (and maude knows you can't have enough of THOSE in your life! Yay for friends who give good hug!), thinking, walking, writing, reading...making soup..hanging laundry. I will let you decide which is minor/major

There are some feelings that I am having that I think have their origins in this sudden spate of reconnections with old friends combined with hanging out with someone new and considering what I want to relate about my past. I find myself smiling, and suddenly there are tears in my eyes and I cannot place the sadness. Tonight, it hit me that the people I am reconnecting with are not only all from the era in my life that I remember as being particularly full of kinship and love, but also that which ultimately led to a great deal of pain for me. Pain that made me flee my home state and move somewhere I never thought I would live. Pain that would make me hide away geographically and learn to tuck away parts of myself out of the reach of anyone. I learned in those years what vulnerability was, and gradually I learned that it was not OK to allow myself to be vulnerable. In spite of appearances, I have still not really learned how to allow myself to be vulnerable with people. I frequently pretend I am invincible. I allow people to say/do things that hurt me, and I brush these things off as if they are no big deal. I act like I am Not Sensitive when really I am Ultra Sensitive. I like to think I'm pretty transparent. I also like to think that at some point someone will realize that about me and not rely on me to say "ouch" before they stop. hurting. me.

And, here's the deal. Right now, I am involved with a couple of people who are exposing a great deal of stark vulnerability to me. The vulnerabilities that are being exposed originate from totally different situations, but with both people I feel a tremendous amount of gratitude for the trust they have invested in me. I feel like it has been a long time since I have been witness to someone else's vulnerabilities in such a way. On one hand, I feel like I have been in training my whole life for just this type of thing...on the other hand, I am frightened that I might screw everything up. Either way, I think I am learning something important. I think that a lot of times random events in my life come together in a seemingly coincidental way that is actually not coincidence at all, but rather a sign pointing me to some sort of self-reckoning. I'm waiting to see what ends up happening here, but I'm also participating in the end result. I feel inspired by these people and their vulnerabilities. It is forcing me to consciously exercise the tendency that I have to be overly-cautious about what I say and do, and that isn't such a bad thing at all.

Driving home from picking up the kids tonight and listening to the Dirty Three, I suddenly was able to define at least some of what I am feeling. It is...relief? Prescience? Some sort of notion that soon I will be able to lie back comfortably and Be Understood. And not have to work so hard at it. I don't know if I am just thinking wishfully here, but with at least one of these relationships, I am getting a sense of kinship which on the surface might appear to be yet another tricky personality to manouver around but underneath might actually provide me with that Calm Knowing that I have desired for so long. When I was trying to think of a way to describe it, I pictured someone walking past a window of an empty building and not really paying attention enough to notice beyond the apparent darkness within...but about a block away, stopping...returning...standing in front of the window with hands framing eyes to see inside and...finding something. Something that looked like nothing before, but is Really Something. Something delicate and intricate and fragile and beautiful. Something never before considered. Like an overgrown path that with only a slight amount of work in the beginning, becomes a more enjoyable route. Or something.

Oh, I don't know. Maybe I am just babbling because I am getting the flu or something. I should probably go take some echinacea and finish this work that needs to get done so I can go to sleep.

Lester Bangs, blogging, and the art of romancing the mundane.

May 21, 2006

My little imaginary friend inside of the computer and I got into an argument last week. Actually, he is no longer my little imaginary friend, because I actually got to meet him last week, also...but before I got to meet him, we got into an argument about art.

No-longer-imaginary friend (who wants to be referred to as "skippy" but I think he is more of a "bear") feels that a strict definition needs to be applied to art. We argued because he flatly refused to believe that the writing done on blogs can be art. I think, too, that he might have a problem believing that vaguely non-fictional personal essays like those that I write here, can be art.

I was frustrated, mostly because I am tired of men defining what is and isn't art for me, as if I am incapable of discerning or defining or experiencing or coming to my own conclusions. And also because his refusal to accept a wider scope WAS so flat, and it was so so easy for him to deny my experience as an artist and of the process of my creation.

I was so frustrated, in fact, that I set out to commit artistic homicide! That night, before I went to bed, I went to the website where Bear's music is stored, and I set it up to play his music for me while i drifted off. I was hoping that if I listened to his music earnestly I would be able to approach him with a secret air of smug disdain. I would never tell him that I thought his music was trite, but I would KNOW...and I would no longer have to be effected by his opinion of my mode of creative expulsion. I think I fell asleep before the first song (when I told him this story in chat the next day, he interrupted me here by saying "Heh.") HOWEVER, I woke up several hours later to the most amazing sounds I have heard in a long time. Something totally unique and something that totally rubbed this spiritually orgasmic spot in my chest. I sat straight up in bed and thought "Oh, fuck. Bear is a fucking genius."

This is troublesome on several levels...not the least of which is the fact that I am perpetually drawn to crazy mad genius types, and at this precise point in my life, I really do not need to be chasing boys around with my tongue hanging out, mad for whatever they have to offer me*. But also...fuck. Now I have to take his opinions about art seriously because, indeed, he is an Artist.

So, all weekend I have been considering this. Art. I have defended personal blogging as a political act...but have I ever really considered whether or not it is an artistic act? Is my life...a work of art? And does sharing it here with you make me an artist?

I gotta say...I don't know. I think it is subjective, although I see the validity in Bear's idea that art needs to be defined and filtered and criticized in order to prevent muddying of the waters. But perhaps it is so that I am more of a socialist of art. That I feel that everyone needs to create art in whatever way it is within them and through whatever means are available to them. I am not saying that blogs are art by definition, but blogs can be art. And I am not saying that writing auto-biographically is always creative, but I am saying that, at least in my place, there is no difference between the creator and the creation. What I offer (at my best) is no different than a well-framed photo or a beautifully composed symphony. I still have to choose what to relate and how I am going to set about relating it. And, baby, that is art. I mean, a photographer takes about 100 shots (or more) to get that ONE. PERFECT. SHOT. I bet the ratio of crap to decent writing on this site is way better than that. The only difference is that I am putting it out there, flaws and all, and allowing the reader to decide. And isn't it true that the most lauded artists are those who take mundane objects and elevate them to something to be revered? Doesn't the true artist inject beauty into the banal and cause spectator to become participant? Those are the artists *I* prefer, anyway.

Ultimately, Bear and I came to a middle ground somewhere. He admitted that he was being a bit touchy, and I admitted that 85% of what I write here is probably safely well out of anyone's definition of art. And I am OK with that, because I know that I am an artist, regardless.

And what does all of this have to do with Lester Bangs? Well, after our argument, I typed two words into my chat client and sent them off to Bear. Lester Bangs.

Who? What?

Lester Bangs raised music criticism to a high form of art, using personal experience as a vehicle. He makes me care about stuff I don't actually really give a shit about.

Bear responded: I thought you hated critics.

I said: But I love Lester Bangs...and that is, precisely, my point.

*I am definitely going to have to come back to this later...as this weekend I have had about a zillion thoughts, conversations, ideas, scary moments of panic about this tendency of mine...but inevitably I know I am fine. So don't go worrying about me or anything. Basically, the conclusion I have reached is that it might be so that I am drawn to crazy men...but this attraction has really only bitten me in the ass once or maybe twice in my life...which is more than most people who AREN'T attracted to crazy men can say. And in the meantime, I get the added joy of having a little controlled chaos in my life that not only serves to awaken but also inspire me. Immensely. So, whatever. Bite me if you want to pathologize me based on my love of the crazy men...because, like I told my mom..."So, like, if you are crazy that needs to condemn you to a life without love? If so...UNFAIR! And if not...who will love the crazy man, if not me?"

My children are wearing me out.

May 18, 2006

Lately, it has been very exhausting being me. I mean, I am by no means considering resignation, but the children are presenting challenges to me that require a lot of strength for me to work through. They aren't very tangible challenges, either...so it is difficult to explain. And I can't even say that one of them is more challenging than the other, as they both have their little ways to make things tricky for me.

I figured out a couple of weeks ago, when Monk and I had that standoff over him cleaning his room, that part of the problem is that, after 5 months of having other adult humans in the house to back me up, suddenly I am on my own. This means that Monk is jockeying for his place in our little household heirarchy. He's testing the limits again and seeing what he can get away with, and it is freaking tiresome. It is difficult enough for me to be authoritarian, but when my authority over every. little. thing. is challenged on an event-by-event basis I start to get kinda cranky.

The worst part about Monk is that he's painfully sensitive, but he tries to pretend like he is not. So I frequently will inadvertantly say things to him that hurt him, and then I have to go back and do damage control outside of the scenario...if that makes sense. I mean, while I am trying to get stuff done around here, I can't spend that time apologizing to him for his hurt feelings. In the moment, it just doesn't work. But I do have to be mindful of how he is responding so we can wrap things up and discuss how to do it better next time.

Also, Monk has some pretty annoying quirks that I am sure would get beaten out of him if he was in public school. I don't have the heart to "beat" them out of him, but I do feel like it is imperative that I inform him of the irritation factor of some of his quirks. Like, for instance, lately he is a LOUD TALKER. I find myself cringing from his words. I'm always like "Dude, I am right here - you don't have to yell to make your point!" I got to thinking the other day that if he was in school he would be forced to BE QUIET, and perhaps he would outgrow the loud talking.

This does not mean that I want to send him to school. Although, on my walk last night, I started thinking about all the ways I could escape blame for his less desirable habits if he was in school. Since I am homeschooling them, it seems like it is all on me. Which is abso-fucking-lutely ridiculous, because I certainly don't feel like I can take any credit for their more desirable habits. For instance...Monk easily knows way more about history than I ever did, and possibly more than I ever will. He absorbs documentaries like a sponge, and reads SO MUCH. When we were reading the Lightning Thief, he was able to predict which gods were responsible for what obstacles that were placed in the path of the heroes, and I was amazed every time. I certainly didn't teach him any of this stuff, and yet for some reason I feel responsible for his loud talking.

Coley, on the other had. Wow. That child. He is absolutely the cutest little ball of energetic mayhem that has ever existed. He has taken to yelling "NO!" loudly every time I attempt to get him to do ANYTHING - whether it is something he has previously expressed interest in or not. My shmoopie. And SO dramatic. On the other hand, I have noticed that this child has an EYE for the most interesting things. Monk has an eye for patterns, and Coley has an eye for texture and geometry. It's evident in the photos he takes, and in just the little things he notices throughout the day.

Homeschooling Coley is going to be the exact opposite of homeschooling Monk. Monk, in spite of his intransigence, takes direction fairly well. Coley...does not. However, Monk NEVER does projects. He HATES projects. Whereas Coley DEMANDS them. He can spend 2 hours "making a recipe" at the kitchen table...or stapling straws into interesting shapes...or cutting up pieces of paper...or...or...or...

Plus, KINETIC! Coley must always be moving. Always.

When I think about my boys in a public school environment, I cringe. They are just not a good fit. I have mentioned this to a family advisor that they visit with on a regular basis who is a proponent of public school, and she has said "They would adapt."

My feeling is that they would NOT adapt...that, instead, they would be FORCED to adapt...which is different. My somewhat socially awkward son would be forced into social situations that would stress him out, and my somewhat hyperactive (NOT in the clinical sense) son would be FORCED to sit still. Either way, they would be labeled and possibly even set up for failure...and that's if they managed to deflect the damage that would come from them changing their inherent nature to get by. If they were able to adapt and "succeed" - they would have to change who they are. I think that is bullshit.

And yet, as I struggle through these days, I wish they would adapt JUST A LITTLE to make things easier for me. I need to remind myself that they are who they are...and the best way for them to learn how to be who they are in the world is by gentle, GRADUAL, persistent guidance by the adults in their lives who care for them. NOT by forcing them into a situation in which they either have to adapt quickly or suffer the consequences.

Coley and the Pomegranate tree

May 16, 2006

There is a pomegranate tree on the corner of one of the blocks on our walking route. Tonight, Coley passed it by and noticed that it is starting to fruit!

"Mom! Mom! There are pomegranates in the pomegranate tree!"

I went over to look, pointing out that the flower was turning into fruit, but that the fruit was still green and unripe.

"Maybe when it gets ripe," posited Coley hopefully, "We can come back and pick it!"

"Maybe we can!" I said. "Maybe we could even plant our OWN pomegranate tree one day...they seem to do well out here."

"Maybe," Coley thought a bit..."Maybe if the people who live in this house PERISH, we can move in here and have THIS pomegranate tree."

****

Two things:

1. Is it absolutely twisted that my 5 year old child wishes the neighbors would DIE so we can move into a house that has a pomegranate tree?
2. What 5 year old child uses the word "perish" to communicate that sentiment, anyway?

I fear that I have totally screwed up this motherhood thing. Clearly, my children are going straight to Hades.

The Deluxe Salad (AKA Coley's first recipe)

May 16, 2006

Coley has decided he is going to be a world-class chef. And, like all of his ambitious projects, he begins...simply.

Ingredients:
1 tomato
1 carrot
about 1 cup of cauliflower
1 green onion
a handful of green beens

(read this with a weird britishy accent)

You have to cut the carrots first, into itsy-bitsy half-circles. Cut the tomato in half, then cut them into strips. And then you have to cut the green beans into little tiny circles that you can't forget about (he is running around in circles as he dictates to me.) Now then. You put in the cauliflower, and cut it into halves of greatness! (now he is galloping). And the green onion, cut it last, into great tubes that you would never forget about!

Thank you!

More Craig's List Mayhem

May 16, 2006

It was another one of those platonic-only ads that really wasn't looking for anything platonic. I am about to give up. I mean, I don't necessarily mind if I start chatting with someone, discover there is crushiness happening, and maybe develop something more than friendship, but I am not at all interested in talking to people with S-E-X, or one of its many subsidiaries, being the primary focus of the conversation. Right off the bat.

So, the dude starts chatting with me yesterday, and within the first 5 minutes he's all "send me a photo! I am curious about what you look like!" and I was busy cooking and...multi-tasking...and being mama and stuff, so I got pissy with him and was like "I don't have time for this. You can stay curious!" and I closed the window.

Later that night, he started chatting me up again, and I was just kind of watching the train wreck as it happened. I think he was wanting to flirt (which, in hindsight, I had been jokingly flirting with him before, and said something like "flirting is only good if it is bad." And I think he might have taken that to mean bad as in naughty, when I ACTUALLY meant bad as in cheesy.) or maybe even talk sexy talk with me, which kind of cracks me up. Sorry if that offends anyone out there who might be into sexy-talk online, but it just seems sort of silly to me. At any rate, he asked me about myself and I obliged a little and returned the question. He said he was "becoming more and more conservative" as he got older...and then he tried to continue the conversation...and I was all "Dude, you kind of lost me at the part where you said you were conservative."

But I was being work-avoidant, so I hung in. Until the jackass tells me he has a wife and 4 kids. I'm all "Why are you trying to flirt with crazy internet women when you have a wife and FOUR CHILDREN? Shouldn't you be flirting WITH YOUR WIFE?"

Gah.

He laughed it off, and was all "Well, the meds make her not want to have sex with me."

EYEROLL.

I was like "Dude, I don't think you want to talk to me...because I will only lecture you."

and then I said

"hahahahaha."

And he said "What is so funny?"

And I said "It's just that it is kind of ironic that the ANARCHIST is schooling the REPUBLICAN on MORAL ETHICS."

But, actually...if you think about it...it kind of is not.

Suddenly, my little wife and four kids dude had to "run to the store." I don't think I will be hearing from him again. It gives me an idea, though...maybe I should become the MASKED CRAIG'S LIST CRUSADER! I can chat up married dudes and teach them about relationship ethics! It sounds like a fun pasttime.

Sensitive Child...Spirited Child

May 16, 2006

I am still working my way through Kids, Parents, and Power Struggles. Every time I read a chapter, I feel like I have totally fucked up as a parent, and I want a do over. Last night, I read the chapter on children's temperaments. The questions in the quiz were difficult for me to answer in some cases for one or both of the children, but at least I had teh characteristics in mind as I went about the day.

We hit dinner time. I had made a pepper casserole, thinking Coley would love it. Coley loves bell peppers - he will eat them raw like apples...so, I figured "hey...what better meal than pepper casserole."

He refused to eat it, just like he refuses just about any new food that is placed before him. He even made barfing sounds while me and Monk were trying to eat. I was so furious! I told him "Look, Coley...I just want you to try ONE BITE, and if you don't like it - you can make yourself a peanut better and jelly sandwich."

He still refused, so rather than yell at him throughout my meal, I sent him to his room so I could cool off. I told him that he had it totally lucky because when *I* was a kid, I had to sit at the table until I ate every bite - regardless of whether I liked the food or not.

He emerged from his room 10 minutes later (Of course, I had to check up on him a couple of times in the interim). He agreed to taste the pepper, and he did. He put it in his mouth and he chewed and swallowed and said - "I don't like it...but I don't hate it."

And then the spices hit him. Now, I didn't think it was at all spicy. There was garlic in it, but garlic doesn't freak my mouth out. But evidently it freaks Coley's mouth out and he was all "hot hot hot!"

I realized then that Coley and I have very different tastebuds! Duh! All this time he has refused my cooking - well, HELLO! I am an herb and spice fanatic! I love flavor! I spice it up because, how can ANY kid like bland food.

Folks, you should have seen the look on his face when I told Coley I was sorry that I didn't recognize that he was just very sensitive to spices. He was so...relieved. I told him that I would cut up some vegetables for him to eat, and give him a few cubes of cheese. He could have a healthy alternative to the meal. He agreed enthusiastically, and was so HAPPY that I FINALLY recognized that he wasn't just trying to be a pain in the ass by not eating what I made for him.

How can I argue about food with a child who will eat a bowl full of green peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, carrots, and cheddar cheese for dinner without even complaining? He brought me the bowl when he was through. "Sorry, mom..." He said. "I couldn't finish my green peppers because I was already full."

I squatted down to get to eye level with Coley. I said, "Listen, dude...I will make you a deal. As long as you TRY what people put in front of you - I will always try to provide a healthy alternative in case what is offered is too spicy for you."

"OK, mom. " And he hugged me around my neck.

I pulled him away..."And NO barfing sounds."

He grinned mischievously, "NO barfing sounds!"

***

That night, when I was tucking Coley in for bed...I had a lot on my mind. It's not just food sensitivity that we differ on, it is so much more. Coley always scurries around like a little cockroach, whereas I am somewhat more slow. In fact, I have discouraged him from wearing his sneakers and encouraged him to wear his clunky sandals or even his broken roller skate shoes because his "sneakers make him fast" and this causes him to run laps around the grocery store, much to the annoyance of everyone around. Coley is also a project kiddo, but very self-directed. He loves games without rules, whereas I like parameters. He lives in his own little imaginary world, and I am very much of this earth. I mean, even my writing is not ever imaginative. We are just. so. different. It is no wonder we spend a lot of our time butting heads.

So, as I was tucking Coley in, I lay down next to him for a bit, and I said "Gosh, Coley...I have been thinking ever since dinner about how very different we are. And how sometimes those differences make it difficult for us to understand each others' point of view."

Coley didn't miss a beat, "But we still love each other."

"Yes we do, my sweet birdy. Indeed...we do."

And I kissed him goodnight, as well as all of the days' struggles.

Mother's Day.

May 15, 2006

Coley woke me up EARLY this morning. Actually, WAY early. I think I was asleep when this happened, but he came into my room and started crying about his leg hurting or something. I wasn't fully awake, so I think I said something like "Dude, it's MOTHER'S DAY...you are supposed to let me sleep."

Maybe I dreamed that. I hope I dreamed that.

At any rate, I was treated to a breakfast in bed (of a bowl of dry cereal, courtesy of Cole.) Monk told me that he and Coley would buy me lunch, their treat. Coley, however, had other ideas:

"Mom. My present to you is that you can choose anywhere you want to go for lunch. Only YOU have to pay for it."

I told him "That's harsh, bird...after all, you have more allowance money saved than ANY of us."

"I'm saving it until I have 100 dollars," was Cole's droll response.

Monk chimed in "Yeah...because then he's going to buy a bunch of toys and video games." [insert dramatic pause] "And he's going to buy some cigars and go to the strip club."

*sigh*

Thankfully, when probed, Monk had no idea what a strip club was - nor did he seem particularly interested in finding out. He had heard about it on King of the Hill, he told me. God Damn Motherfucking television!

So the day went. We had lunch at Mother's and home again where we hung out with one of Coley's little friends for a bit until he got tired of being at our house and asked his mom if maybe we could go to his house.

I am kind of getting tired of my house being the pariah house. Yeah - I know it's not the best house in town, but sometimes it would be nice for people to play over here. It just reminds me of when I was growing up and I was always going to my friends' houses...none of them ever really came to my house. It is, I think, somewhat of a curse of the divorced parent. At least that's the way I came to view it. And, yeah, also...being a divorced parent, there are certain household tasks that get neglected. Like mowing the jungle in the backyard. hahaha.

Anyway, I dropped Coley and a Pee-Wee Herman video off at his friend's house and went shopping. The store was suspiciously void of women. Lots of yummy looking men, though. They all looked confused. One guy followed me around the produce section, copying my methods for testing freshness which I, of course, exagerrated to fuck with him.

Then home again & Monk put away the groceries while I first talked to Pansy and then called my mom:

Me: Hey...Happy Mother's day, you MOTHER!
Mom: Yeah, what's it to you?

etc. It's kind of a tradition now for me to say these things on Mother's day. I told mom I was going to buy her flowers, but I thought she would get pissed off. "You are damn right I would!" she said. "Don't waste your money!"

Moms. Nyeesh.

I also spoke with my brother, which was fun. He ditched me for his Wayne's pizza, though. Before he hung up, he wished me a Happy Mother's Day.

"Yeah, Happy Mother's Day to you, too...you MOTHER." I said.

Damn, that joke never gets old.

Snake and Turtle

May 13, 2006

I just have to say that I am so proud of myself for this picture. I was so busy concentrating on getting the flower just right, I totally didn't notice there was a snake AND a turtle in the shot until I was uploading the pictures to flickr. Isn't that the neatest thing?

Last night's NOW on immigration

May 13, 2006

Monk and I watched the debate over immigration policy last night on PBS' NOW. At one point, one of the white dudes said something to the effect of "We have never witnessed a wage increase due to illegal immigration." The implication of which is that those damn immigrants ARE ruining our economy and ARE taking our jobs, or at least reducing our wages.

It is a good thing I didn't have anything to throw at the television set.

While it might be true that worker wages have never increased as a result of illegal immigration, it is also true (and, amazingly, largely unpointed out at these types of debates) that executive wages continue to rise uncontrolled due to the high profit margin of not having to pay workers what they are worth. Part of the reason for that is due to immigrant labor. Part of the reason it's so easy for big businesses to get away with it is because people are too distracted by blaming brown folks for stealing their jobs and/or their wages to realize it and fight against it. Dude, that's capitalism! The large corporations bank on illegal immigration. Why is this almost never mentioned in these kinds of debates?

I was pleased with Monk's assessment of the whole thing. He basically said "Those guys sound like racists, mom."

I asked him "But, what do you think of the point the one guy made about the fact that illegal immigrants are breaking the law? Shouldn't we expect people to obey the law?"

"Yeah, but the immigration laws are TOTALLY dumb, mom."

Yay! I try not to put too much stock in Monk's ever-changing opinion. If I do, I will only set myself up to be terribly disappointed if he grows up to be a republican. But still, it is refreshing to discuss politics with a budding little being, and discover how his moral/ethical consciousness is developing.

However, it is difficult to explain to Monk how much our economy relies upon immigration - yes, illegal immigration, too - to survive. And, while I am a definite proponent of open borders and whatever we can do to welcome people to this country, I also realize that it is all a very well-controlled game. Really, that is all it seems to be to me. Certainly these large corporations realize that if we tighten up immigration laws, they will lose their slave labor force. I can't package it up all nicely for Monk and say "This is the way it is, and this is the way it should be" without first explaining how our entire economy is based upon making people suffer so some can live in luxury.

flickr foto friday: a day at the botanical garden

May 12, 2006

I haven't been uploading photos! I have a backlog! I'll start today and work backwards in the coming weeks. I have photos up from our trip to the botanical garden:

also, some shots by coley:

and a few self-portraits from a good hair day (both me and cole!):

Enjoy!

Friday Random Ten: Perfect Weather Version

May 12, 2006

It was then that I broke down, it was then that you lifted me up again...

May 12, 2006

Lately when I walk past my dream house, there is someone in there! He's tall and has a shaved head and seems to be alone whenever I walk by. I wonder if he likes Nick Cave.

If you know what is good for you, you will take my advice and listen to the Abbatoir Blues/Lyre of Orpheus 2xCD over and over again. You might learn something. Especially you boys out there. I am noticing that the majority of people who do not "get" Nick Cave are boys. What's with you guys? Are you jealous of Nick's weasely manliness? Disregard that line about the "deep sea diver's suit" - the man can pull a lyric out of his ass like no one's business, and he can pull off lines that no other singer can accomplish without sounding just silly. And he still ends up sounding totally swoonworthy. And relevent. Because in the end, it IS beauty that is going to save the world now:

"You pointed at something and said
Have you ever seen such a beautiful thing
It was then that I broke down
It was then that you lifted me up again."

It's so simple, and yet...so vital. This is what I live for.

Lately, I've been caught up in learning more about my little imaginary friend inside of the computer. He is a nice imaginary friend, but I can't seem to get past the screen. It is frustrating. I think I am being paid back for all of the times I have been impossible and vague with people. But, in a way, it is also very fun. I am learning a lot about myself, as well.

For instance, I am a total brat when it comes to meeting people at homeschool park day. I sit here online and spout off all of the time about how fascinated I am with people...and yet - I go to park day armed with a book and my journal, and curl up in a corner and ignore everyone, unless certain people are there. Today, a nice mom tried to befriend me. I was attempting to make small talk back, and there was really nothing wrong with her, but I find it difficult to muster. She asked me something about the philisophical composition of the homeschool group, and I said, kind of chuckling "I don't actually know much about the other homeschoolers. I am pretty much anti-social." I think she felt like I was trying to tell her to leave me the fuck alone, but I wasn't. I was just being honest. I don't really talk to anyone save the 5 or 6 people I already know at park day. I meet maybe 1 or 2 new people a year. I already feel pretty overwhelmed with the number of people I know and need to keep up with!

It is a social habit for me to pick 2 or 3 people from any given social circle that I am involved in and leave the rest. An economy of socializing. I feel the need to diversify. My circle of friends already suffers from a lack of diversity. For instance, this year has been the first year since the kids were born that I really have had any good male friends. It is a nice change of pace, but I am glad that I have some good bonds with women, too. For a long, long time all of my close friends were males & I dunno...I just think it is important to have good friends all over the spectrum of gender.

Ummm...it is late, and I am getting distracted. I have been distracted all week. I have a headachey crush* on a boy, but it's an imaginary crush* with an imaginary boy and I can't know if it is a real crush* until the boy becomes real...you know? So I am distracted with trying to see through the shroud. And my head hurts from squinting through the haze and mist.

Somehow, even this headache is kind of fun, too. Confusion is sex, you know.

Which, by the way, when did it become an "showing my age" rather than, you know, "being old school" to like pre-Daydream Nation Sonic youth? Not that I care so much for being considered cool in my musical tastes, but I feel like I at least deserve a little credit for having seen Sonic Youth live during the Sister Tour - rather than being called an old lady because of that. pft! I have noticed, too, that I seem to have conversations with people where I say "Oh, yeah...I saw them live during the "blank" tour." Followed by awed silence. This happened at dinner the other night. We were talking about how Bauhaus (!!!!!!!) will be touring with Nine Inch Nails, and somehow that got us talking about The Jesus and Mary Chain (maybe they toured with NIN at some point) and I was like "Yeah, I saw JMC during the Psychocandy tour." And there was silence. But it was a silence of respect, not a silence of "Damn, you are an old fucking lady!" See...I *AM* old school, Damnit!

In a couple of weeks, the boys will be going to stay with their father for three whole weeks. THREE WHOLE WEEKS. This is very daunting to me, and I realize for the last three extended stays with their dad, I have managed to recruit whacky sidekicks to take their place in my life. Over Thanksgiving, it was a trip to New Orleans to visit C; over winter break, it was my cricket; over spring break, it was sxsw with Tracy (who I am thrilled to note is blogging again. I had a fun little IM chat with him in which I waxed maniacal about Mr. Cave and he just sort of sat there, sweet man that he is, and feigned interest in a very convincing manner. Thanks, Trace! You are the greatest!)...I figure I need to set up auditions for the summer incarnation of the Whacky Sidekick character. Who will it be? Who will it be?!

I have an idea of who I want it to be, but I'm afraid that if I say it out loud, he will go hide under a rock and never come out - no matter how much candy I try to bribe him with**.

Ha!

*I need to clarify that this is one of my patented "want to find out every little thing about, but not necessarily have hot sex with" crushes. I tend to reserve judgment about the potential "hot sex" factor until I have actually met someone in person and witnessed how they interact with the world. So, I hope my little imaginary friend doesn't freak out that I have a crush on him. As if he doesn't already know. Ah, fuck...I am just digging a huge hole here, aren't I? I suppose anyone worth knowing will understand whatever the fuck it is I am talking about, or at least allow for explanation before freaking out.

**Actually, Whacky Sidekick would be the perfect clarification of what I desire of above-mentioned crush. I want to roam the streets of Austin in the middle of the night and sing songs and maybe dance around and be silly and, you know, that little fantasy I have of someone just being here without demanding anything and without any real pressing demands being placed on him. That's what I'm really auditioning for. And if my little imaginary friend isn't up for that...I guess I will have to look elsewhere.

Nature Boy
by Nick Cave

I was just a boy when I sat down
To watch the news on TV
I saw some ordinary slaughter
I saw some routine atrocity
My father said, don't look away
You got to be strong, you got to be bold, now
He said, that in the end it is beauty
That is going to save the world, now

And she moves among the sparrows
And she floats upon the breeze
She moves among the flowers
She moves something deep inside of me

I was walking around the flower show like a leper
Coming down with some kind of nervous hysteria
When I saw you standing there, green eyes, black hair
Up against the pink and purple wisteria
You said, hey, nature boy, are you looking at me
With some unrighteous intention?
My knees went weak,
I couldn't speak, I was having thoughts
That were not in my best interests to mention

And she moves among the flowers
And she floats upon the smoke
She moves among the shadows
She moves me with just one little look

You took me back to your place
And dressed me up in a deep sea diver's suit
You played the patriot, you raised the flag
And I stood at full salute
Later on we smoked a pipe that struck me dumb
And made it impossible to speak
As you closed in, in slow motion,
Quoting Sappho, in the original Greek

She moves among the shadows
She floats upon the breeze
She moves among the candles
And we moved through the days
and through the years

Years passed by, we were walking by the sea
Half delirious
You smiled at me and said, Babe
I think this thing is getting kind of serious
You pointed at something and said
Have you ever seen such a beautiful thing?
It was then that I broke down
It was then that you lifted me up again

She moves among the sparrows
And she walks across the sea
She moves among the flowers
And she moves something deep inside of me

She moves among the sparrows
And she floats upon the breeze
She moves among the flowers
And she moves right up close to me

My Mad Scientist.

May 9, 2006

The boys had a doctor's appointment this afternoon, so I was trying to keep them on task in the morning so we didn't have to waste the whole day for one appointment, which is what happens a lot...too much...around these parts.

Monk had this idea in his head to do a science experiment involving flammable liquids. I was dubious about the possibility of setting liquids on fire in my kitchen, but I let him lead the way. My first mistake was to mention the scientific method to Monk, and let him know that there are certain things scientists do to ensure their experiments are done correctly. He wanted to quit once I tried to apply my fascist laws to his whimsical "setting things on fire" project...so I chilled out. I was just like "Look, all I'm saying is it's a good idea to think about the experiment and try to guess what will happen based on what you are doing. He stopped being all floppy after that, and directed me to the tools he would need.

What he wanted to do, basically, was set a candle on fire and douse it with water to see if the water would catch on fire. It didn't work, so I started to look up other experiements we could do with fire on the internet. Monk was pissed. He didn't want to do an experiment someone ELSE has already thought of...he wanted to do his OWN experiment and discover something NO ONE ELSE has discovered yet. I felt empathy for the little dude, but...I mean...we were working in a KITCHEN with a candle and an old jelly jar. I offered to try to set up a field trip with a chemistry teacher at UT and see what we could uncover that way. No. That wasn't good enough. He stalked off to his room and shut the door so he could collapse in a frustrated, mopey heap on his bed.

I followed after him. "Look, Monk." I said. "You have my full attention for at least the next 30 minutes. I have an idea! Why don't we take three strips of paper: douse one in water, one in oil, and leave one dry...and see which one burns fastest."

Monk said "I would have done that if YOU hadn't thought of it!"

*sigh* "OK, bud. I'm going to just leave you in here for a little while, and when you think of a good experiment, we can do it."

He came out 5 minutes later "Why don't we set a jar of oil on fire."

We tried it. Armed with baking soda (Lesson #1: I got to explain how oil fires spread when you try to put them out with water. I even showed him how oil and water don't mix, and explained that fire needs oxygen and baking soda smothers the fire) we tossed a lit match into a jar of vegetable oil. The oil doused the flame before it caught fire.

"You know, Monk..." I said. "I have set oil on fire in this house, but I had to burn it really bad, first." We tried heating up the oil in a boiling pot of water to see if we could safely approximate hot oil. Nope. Nothing doing. (Lesson #2: Using a double boiler to heat up a liquid without burning or scorching it)

So, we resorted to the internet, where we learned that the boiling point of oil is up to 5 times higher than the boiling point of water. We learned that oil actually starts to smoke and becomes dangerous long before it boils or burns. We learned that it would be much more painful to be boiled in oil than it would be to be boiled in water. We learned why foods that are boiled in water have a different texture than foods that are fried in oil.

It is amazing how many lessons we learn in failure. I think THAT was the most important lesson of them all.

Monk wants to know...

May 8, 2006

Is it possible to be both optimistic and paranoid?

Just some random thoughts.

May 8, 2006

I sometimes wonder why anyone reads this blog. I actually frequently think about disassociating myself from the feminist blogs and anarchoblog feeds because, although I consider myself a feminist and an anarchist, I don't really talk about feminism or anarchism. I'm not really writing this stuff for any real purpose other than the joy of writing, and I think sometimes being associated with those feeds makes me self-conscious about doing what I started this thing to do in the first place, which is write silly stupid stuff about how I spend my time and allow the reader to decide whether or not my day to day existence is actually politically relevent. I think it is...just as I think everyone else's is...but I still feel self-conscious about it.

At any rate, that said, I'm going to commence talking about silly stupid stuff that may or may not have any political relevence. I suppose I'll stay on those feeds until someone finally tells me I'm irrelevent and kicks me off!

Today I took care of a financial issue that has been hanging over my head for a year now, and which came to a head on Saturday and I couldn't deal with until today because the offices were closed for the weekend. I have to say for the amount of worrying I did about this issue over the weekend, it's resolution was extremely anti-climactic. At the same time, I feel tremendously relieved. If I play my cards right, I will have this issue totally dealt with and off my back within a couple of months. Maybe then my sudden outbreak of nervous acne will disappear.

Like I mentioned in an earlier post, I had a really nice weekend - communicating with people on all sorts of different levels. I think I am addicted to people. For a long time, I have thought that I have a weird penchant for befriending and being attracted to crazy people. This weekend, I realized that I have the urge to befriend and be attracted to just about anyone. It's just that *I* am perhaps a little crazy, so crazy people are the only ones who respond to me with any level of openness. Or, perhaps, you have to be a little crazy in this world to open up to others. Maybe our definition of sanity is remaining stoic in spite of what we really truly need to do, which is burst open on each other and let it all hang out. I'm in need of more safe venues of bursting open. I'm in need of more witnessing of others' bursting open. I crave it. It is an addiction. I just know it is. I love people - getting to know them, finding out more and more and more. It makes me happy to connect with others, even just a smile as I walk past them on the street.

I was absolutely delighted when, on Saturday, my mom called to let me know that she had chanced upon a friend of mine from high school. JC was one of those kids you knew in high school who seemed impervious to the social bullshit that was happening all around him. He was fantastically weird and funny and sweet and yet so removed from everything as to be unknowable. He sat in front of me in Algebra class, and used to make little paper hats and clothes for the teddy bears I carried with me everywhere. Of course, I had a huge, unspoken crush on him. I'm not even sure if I was aware I had a crush on him. I think I was conscious of his unknowability and therefore never allowed myself to attempt to know him. I knew that any attempt would end in heartbreak, and I would never again be able to appreciate him for his adorable silly randomly outrageous self. I think I was pretty ignorant of my wisdom back then, but I'm sure I was acting out of a weird wisdom when it came to a lot of the choices I made.

At any rate, a few months back, a friend of mine asked to look at the high school yearbooks I have up on my top shelf, and JC had written in it in his usual undescribably imaginative and silly way, and I thought "HmmmmMMmm." I attempted to do a google search to no avail.

So, I was delighted when my mom called with his email address. It's another thing I'm addicted to - aside from meeting new people, I love connecting with old lost friends and finding out how they have shaped their lives. And so I reconnected with old JC and am finding him to be as wonderfully witty as he ever was, and doing creative things. It's great. I'm proud of the friends I have known through the years who are still pursuing their art in whatever way they can.

(This reminds me that I've been meaning to link up my friend John's photo site. He is just so awesome. I want to order prints of everything he has done and wallpaper my house with his vision.)

At any rate, it was a very rewarding weekend. The only thing about it that sucked was the financial pall hanging over it, and now that's resolved and I can move forward into a rewarding week, I think.

So, like, tell me if these rambling posts annoy you or make you happy, because even though I pretend like I don't care, I really actually do...and if these rambly posts annoy people, I will stick them in my livejournal or my private journal and not put them out there like this.

Tell it, sister Tish.

May 8, 2006

Tish has a thing or two to say about fighting obesity, rather than promoting health:

It's so hard when the people who are doing the good work use the size of my ass to make their point.

You are all fired!

May 7, 2006

How come no one told me abuot THE PROPOSITION - Written by Nick Cave - Directed by John Hillcoat?

Huh?

You are all a bunch of slackers! Damn you!

You leap into the abyss, but find / It only goes up to your knees

May 7, 2006

I have been having a lot of conversations with myself lately, so this weekend it has been nice to have some conversations with other people. Like talking about how fucked the healthcare system is and talking about getting organized and talking about what a genius Nick Cave is, and how awesome the Dirty Three are.

That was my favorite one. Because, I kind of go through life, it seems, feeling like I'm the only one who thinks like me. And I know it sounds dumb to think that way about musical interests, but last night when I was driving JM home and Dirty Three came on my stereo and he expressed approval, and I turned to him and said "Have you heard the cover they did with Low of..." and in unison we said "Down by the River" with that same breathlessness that I have applied to that song ever since I first heard it. I couldn't help it. I was so excited, I socked him in the arm! And an excited, what-would-have-been-arm-waving-if-I-was-not-driving conversation ensued about Dirty Three and Nick Cave and music. We were talking about people who don't "get" Nick Cave, and he was all "I don't GET people who don't GET Nick Cave." And it probably sounds like it was funny and kind of sarcastic but he was dead serious and it's true. What is WITH you people who don't GET Nick Cave? You are the cause of all of the world's problems, I am sure of it!

But anyway, yeah. Suddenly it all became clear that, duh! I am not the only person who thinks about the things that I think about. Not only about Nick Cave but also about healthcare and the sorry state of our country and my crappy financial situation and love and people and craziness and everything else. I am not alone. And neither are you.

"Babe, You Turn Me On"
NICK CAVE & THE BAD SEEDS

Stay by me, stay by me
You are the one, my only true love

The butcher bird makes it's noise
And asks you to agree
With it's brutal nesting habits
And it's pointless savagery
Now, the nightingale sings to you
And raises up the ante
I put one hand on your round ripe heart
And the other down your panties

Everything is falling, dear
Everything is wrong
It's just history repeating itself
And babe, you turn me on

Like a light bulb
Like a song

You race naked through the wilderness
You torment the birds and the bees
You leapt into the abyss, but find
It only goes up to your knees
I move stealthily from tree to tree
I shadow you for hours
I make like I'm a little deer
Grazing on the flowers

Everything is collapsing, dear
All moral sense has gone
It's just history repeating itself
And babe, you turn me on

Like an idea
Like an Atom bomb

We stand awed inside a clearing
We do not make a sound
The crimson snow falls all about
Carpeting the ground

Everything is falling, dear
All rhyme and reason gone
It's just history repeating itself
And, babe, you turn me on

Like an idea
Like an Atom bomb

Friends with Money

May 6, 2006

I got no help today from my little imaginary friend inside of the computer who claims he is a movie geek, so S and I decided to play "movie roulette."

Here are the rules of movie roulette:

1. find a willing partner - preferably someone with a good sense of humor and at least a little bit of money to burn
2. choose